


figures dancing behind closed eyes

by indragram



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/F, and clarke is pretty dark, and lexa is all mother hen super worried mode, because the mount weather shit fucked her up, indra finds clarke, pretty angsty, yada yada
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3532592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indragram/pseuds/indragram
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after 2x16, Clarke passes out in the woods. Indra finds her and takes her back to camp. Clarke is feeling pretty guilty about what happened at mount weather, and Lexa tries to convince her that she made the right choice</p>
            </blockquote>





	figures dancing behind closed eyes

**Author's Note:**

> so i just finished this large ass critical essay and i wrote this in like and hour to de-stress. haven't checked for errors, so its probs full of them. also sorry for v dark clarke, but it was angst or nothing. may continue if inspiration strikes, but i wouldn't wait up  
> also come find me on tumblr at indragram.tumblr.com (feel free to send me prompts <3)

Your legs are trembling.

 

You have been wandering aimlessly through the woods for hours, legs getting ever weaker as you stumble through the dense undergrowth. The nettles bite at your skin, left exposed by your torn clothing. The gnarled roots of the trees reached through the soft soil, like the claws of a demon, grasping at your feet as she went.

 

You had been afraid to cry before now.

 

Afraid to show the toll your actions took on you, afraid that all of the ground you had made as a leader - the strength that others saw in you - would disappear at the smallest glimpse of weakness.

 

You had needed that strength. You had needed your friends to put their blind faith in you, needed to trust that they wouldn’t stop you as you fought to save your people.

 

To save your mother.

 

Oh god.

 

Your mother.

 

Your mother, who had already lost a husband.

 

Your mother, who had lost her daughter three times over already, who would lose her once more.

 

Your throat stings, and you feel a pang behind your eyes. You close them, reverently.

 

You blindly trip over a root, falling the forest floor, barely able to make yourself throw out your arms for protection. Your head hits a root, and you can feel the warm blood begin to trickle down the side of your head, pooling in your ear. Objectively, you know that you need get up, open your eyes. You need to do something to stop the bleeding, but you can’t find the strength to move.

 

So you keep her eyes closed.

 

Not that you could open them anyway, not when the lives of all of the people you’ve lost are dancing on closed lids.

 

As long as you keep your eyes closed, you can pretend.

 

Pretend that they’re alive.

 

Pretend that you’re back on the ark, sprawled on the sofa next to Wells, forgotten chess pieces scattered on the table in front of you, an old recording of a football match on the television.

 

And - god - you can hear your father’s voice, teasing you for always supporting the underdogs, even when they almost always lost. You bite back cheekily, complaining that he always knew the outcomes ahead of time anyway, so it wasn’t fair that he always knew which side to support.

 

Wells turns to hand you a chess piece, winking as he gestures towards your father, whose attention is now back on the game, a warm smile still on his face.

 

The scene changes, but that smile remains.

 

This time, the soft smile is spread across the face of the Commander, who watches you unwaveringly from across the table.

 

You’re staring admiringly at the armour she has presented you, but you know you shouldn’t accept it. Your people have their own armour, their own weapons, you should use the stuff of your people, but Lexa simply shakes her head, telling you that you are her equal, and thus should dress accordingly.

 

This is the armour of a leader, she tells you, and it will show the grounders that you are to be listened to in the battle.

 

She trails around the war table, fingers dragging across the maps spread across it’s surface, never once breaking eye contact as she makes her way towards you. She reaches down for the glove, and when she holds it up questioningly for you, you smile tenderly, nodding your acceptance.

 

She tells you that the glove represents your position as a warrior. The jewels show your status, marking you as an admirable fighter. You blush as she slips it over you hand, fastening it around your wrist. As she pulls back, you notice that she dons a similar glove, and you reach out to grasp her hand, running your thumb carefully over the back of the glove.

 

She squeezes your fingers reassuringly, before drawing back to reach for the sash. She gently slips it over your head, tightening it so that it will not be displaced in the heat of battle.

 

This is the final stop before you reach the mountain.

 

Night had fallen a long while ago, but you had remained in the commander’s tent, poring over maps and plans, fighting the fear that brews in your chest.

 

Lexa reaches up a hand, and it settles against your cheek. Her thumb strokes beneath you eye, and she holds the contact, promising you that the battle will be won. She tells you that the mountain has ruled over you all for too long. She reassures you that the combined force of the clans will be too much for even the mountain to endure.

 

She reminds you that in order to lead your people, you must rest.

 

You let her guide you to the furs.

 

You can feel yourself drifting off to sleep, and you know that you should feel warm. It is late spring, during the day you can feel the heat of summer in the air, the grounders have swapped to wearing lighter tunics beneath their armour, berries are in season and the warmth is inescapable.

 

So why do you feel cold?

 

Your fingers tingle slightly, and you suddenly remember about your head injury. It throbs violently, as though forgetting it was unforgivable.

 

Your eyes slide open, but are not met with the thick canopy of leaves that you were expecting, nor with the white emptiness or dark heat the books tell you to expect in the afterlife.

 

Stretched over your head is thick leather, lit by the soft glow of candles. You glance down, and where you had expected harsh roots and damp soil, you are met with soft, clean furs.

 

You’re in a grounder tent.

 

Looking towards the entrance of the tent, you see your old bodyguard, Ryder. Lexa - the commander, you quickly correct yourself - had assigned him to you after you had found out that Mount Weather was targeting you. At first you had resisted, but Ryder had refused to back down from the commander’s orders, and you had quickly learned to put up with him. He began to grow on you, and you learned to trust him. You also learned that, despite his stony - and oftentimes apathetic - appearance, he trusted (possibly even respected) you in return.

 

You start to shift in the bedding, moving to a more upright position. Your breath catches slightly as your muscles complain, but you continue until you are sitting up against the wooden back of the bedding.

 

“Skai prisa.” He quickly strides over from his position by the entrance of the tent, stopping by the foot of the bed. “You are injured, do not push yourself.”

 

You gesture for a drink, as your throat is too dry for you to form words. Ryder quickly complies, filling a small cup and handing it to you as soon as you are in reach. You gulp greedily, closing your eyes happily in relief.

 

Ryder has returned to the foot of the bed, his eyes focused on your every action.

 

“How long have I been asleep?” You ask. Your voice is deep, raspy, as though it hasn’t been used for weeks. You suppose it hasn’t, though, since you had been running away from Camp Jaha for at least three days, and hadn’t come across any other humans on your journey.

 

“Indra and her hunting party found you three nights ago.” He pauses, and you absorb the information. “She brought you back here, and Nyko patched you up.” He tilts his head, his eyes scanning you. “We weren’t sure if you would wake up.” He confesses, his eyebrows furrowing.

 

“Thank you for helping me. Am I in Tondc?”

 

“Yes, you- I must tell heda that you are awake.” He quickly turns to leave.

 

“Wait!” He stops, turning to look back questioningly at you. “Lex- I mean, your commander, she’s still here?” He nods. “She told me- I was under the impression that-”

 

Ryder seems to understand you, despite the lack of coherency.

 

“You wonder why she is not in Polis?” You nod. “She was set to leave the day you were brought back. She sent Indra to represent her until-” He cuts himself off abruptly.

 

“Until?” You prompt, glaring stonily at him. He relents, breathing out harshly through his nose.

 

“Until she was sure you were safe.”

 

You exhale a laugh.

 

So now she cares about your safety.

 

Ryder quickly slips out of the tent while you are distracted in your own thoughts. You panic as you realise that you have been left alone in the tent. You panic, because you know that the emptiness will soon be filled by the commander’s all encompassing presence.

 

You’re not ready to see her.

 

Not yet.

 

You ignore the pain in your body and push yourself up, so that your legs are dangling over the edge of the bed. As you put your hand to your side to steady yourself, you notice the glove, still on your hands. Fumbling fingers work quickly, clawing at the fastenings, pulling the cloth harshly from your hand. You drop it to the floor, not bothering to watch it fall, but you do register the soft thud as it collides with the ground. You rip off the sash too, and the shoulder pad.

 

You feel the weight drop from your shoulders, relieving you of the pressure of leadership. You aren’t a leader.

 

You’re a coward, you ran from your people.

 

A murderer.

 

You can’t be here.

 

You can’t see her.

 

You breathe out heavily, pushing forwards so that your feet are against the ground.

 

You stumble through the tent, grabbing your pistol from the table on your way. Your footsteps are harsh and your muscles groan with the effort, the pain transforming into grunts which escape your mouth.

 

You are not a warrior.

 

You push through the flaps of the tent, and are momentarily blinded by the sun, one you haven’t seen - at least, not fully - in days. It was dark in the forest, little light snuck through the dense canopies.

 

You felt better there, less exposed. Now the light shines down unforgivingly on you, and all of your pain is illuminated. All of your flaws.

 

You can’t be here.

 

With heavy limbs you stride towards the forest, the knuckles of one hand white as they grip the gun, and your other hand clenched tightly in a fist by your side. Your head throbs with every step you take, and you feel dizzy, but you push through, you keep going. You may be a coward, but-

 

Well, you will not stay with her.

 

You know, of course, that she had not choice. She was presented with a way to save her people, and she took it, despite the bloodshed and her own personal cost. You did the same, in a way. You were given a chance to save your people, and even though you knew that it would kill hundreds of innocent people, you pulled that lever anyway. You killed _Maya_.

 

You killed all of them.

 

You reach the tree line, but don’t stop. You push further, because you can hear her voice. You can hear Jasper’s voice, his pain as he held Maya in his arms.

 

You did that.

 

And you can’t see Lexa, because you know that she would pity you. You know that she would tell you that it was the right choice, and you don’t want that.

 

You want to feel pain.

 

Hell, you _deserve_ to feel pain. Because no matter the reasoning, you killed all of them, and you can’t bear that weight on your shoulders any more.

 

It’s too much.

 

You can’t-

 

A hand grips your wrist, and you drop the gun, not bothering to turn around, because you know who it is.

 

(You can’t face her.)

 

“Clarke.” She says, almost pleadingly. “Wait.”

 

You turn, slowly, but your eyes are focused on the ground.

 

(The last time you looked at her, she broke your heart.)

 

“Please.”

 

The ground is damp, springy.

 

(It must have rained recently.)

 

“You can’t leave, not yet.” You clench your jaw. She is not your commander. She doesn’t own you. She is nothing to you.

 

(She is everything to you.)

 

“Please, you aren’t healed.” You take your arm out of her grip.

 

“I don’t deserve that.”

 

“What do you _mean_?” She asks, and you finally look up at her face.

 

She’s as beautiful as you remember her.

 

But she looks tired. Her eyebrows are furrowed, and her gaze narrow as she tilts her head slightly to the side. She doesn’t understand.

 

She doesn’t _know_.

 

She doesn’t know what you’ve done to save your people.

 

She doesn’t know the monster you’ve become.

 

You wonder if she would be proud of you, for saving your people. For taking out the entire mountain. It is, after all, what she had originally wanted. Her people had called for the deaths of all those in the mountain, but you had convinced her that some were innocent.

 

Some were innocent.

 

And you still ripped their lives from them.

 

You are the monster they fear.

 

“Clarke?” The commander’s voice is soft, and she sounds almost- worried?

 

“I killed them.” You confess stonily. “Some of them saved my friends, and I didn’t- I killed them all.”

 

“Clarke-”

 

“Jasper loved Maya. He was in love with her. And I knew, I knew that if I pulled that lever, I would kill her.” You laugh, but the sound feels empty. It burns in your chest. “I did it anyway, and what does that make me, Commander?”

 

Lexa flinches slightly at the name. She hasn’t been called that by you in a very long time.

 

She swallows carefully.

 

“Clarke.” She takes a step forwards, and you take one back. She clenches her jaw. “You are not a monster.” She states, her tone full of finality.

 

You begin to protest, but she cuts you off almost immediately.

 

“You are a leader, and as such, you must make some tough decisions.” Her hand is in front of her, gesturing emphatically, fingers towards you, twitching, as though desperate to reach you. You take another step back. “You had no other choice, Clarke. I know that I am in some way to blame for that, and I am _sorry_ -”

 

“You saved your people, I don’t blame you for taking the deal.” You interrupt, refusing to make eye contact. “But I- I didn’t stop to think. I just acted. I shot his dad, you know, and I made him listen. Then he- he harvested my people. So I killed them all.”

 

“Clarke, listen to me.” You can’t look at her. Not when you’re this murderous coward, not when she’s so strong. “You made the decision you had to make. We both did.”

 

She hesitates slightly, before squaring her shoulders, and taking another step towards you. This time, you dont step away.

 

“I know that it feels like you can do no right.” She reaches for your arm, and you don’t - can’t - stop her. “And I know that it feels like you’ve been throwing yourself into a pit of fire, and it burns you, to be a leader, to bear the weight of these decisions, but Clarke, it’s who you are.” You shake your head, clenching your jaw as you try to contain the tears that threaten to fall. “If there had been another way, you would have found it.”

 

“I was just so angry.” You take a step towards her, looking for, well, you don’t know what, but your knees buckle under you, and you feel her arm sweep around your waist, holding you to her.

 

“Clarke, you need rest. Let me help you.” She pleads, hand curled protectively around your middle as she keeps you upright.

 

You are too weak to protest, so you nod.

 

She realises that you don’t have the strength to walk, and it should make you feel weak, that she should have to carry you back into camp in her arms.

 

It doesn’t, though.

 

Instead, as she leads you back through the settlement, towards her tent, you feel safer then you have since the fall of Mount Weather, because she knows exactly how it feels, to kill so that others can live.

 

And if Lexa can be all the stronger for it, then maybe you can too.

 

 


End file.
